Free The Winter Widow by Charlene Weir Page A

doing.”
    She felt the scrape on her cheek sting.
    â€œMeddling in what you don’t know.”
    Ella came running from the house carrying towels and blankets. Parkhurst trotted to the injured man and knelt beside him, took the towels and pressed one against the wound. The white cloth rapidly turned red. Ella crouched and covered the man with blankets. Saddled horses were brought from the barn and the men mounted.
    Guthman ran to the riderless horse, swung astride and led the pack down the road at a fast gallop. Susan went to stand beside Ella.
    â€œThey’re coming,” Ella said. “The ambulance.”
    â€œWhat’s his name?” Susan asked.
    â€œSam, Sam Rivers. Oh, why don’t they get here?”
    Sam’s face was gray and he lay silent, unmoving, only the blood soaking into the folded sheet under Parkhurst’s hand showed his heart was still beating.
    â€œOh dear, oh dear, now this,” Ella whispered, hands clasped tightly against her chest. “What will happen next?”
    They waited. Susan felt awkward and helpless.
    The ambulance, siren wailing, lights flashing, rolled up the road, swayed at the turn past the house and came to a sudden stop. Young paramedics, two male, one female, jogged toward them with stretcher and medical bags. One young man got on his knees, slapped a blood pressure cuff around Sam’s arm, put the ends of the stethoscope in his ears and pumped up the cuff. The young woman applied sterile bandages to the wound and started intravenous fluid.
    With a hiss, pressure was released from the cuff and pumped up again, then released; the young man hooked the stethoscope around his neck. “We’d better move,” he said softly, and ripped off the cuff.
    The two males lifted Sam onto the stretcher and the young woman trotted alongside holding up a plastic bag of clear fluid as they moved to the ambulance and slid the stretcher inside. She climbed in beside it. The males raced to the front and the ambulance sped backwards in a half-turn, stopped and tore off.
    Ella, shivering in the cold air, watched the ambulance leave and muttered in a low voice.
    Susan gave her a sharp look. It sounded as though she’d said, “I hate him.”
    â€œThe bull,” Ella said. “Always the bull.”
    â€œMrs. Guthman,” Parkhurst said. When she didn’t respond, he touched her shoulder and told her to go inside, it was cold. Ella nodded and plodded to the house.
    â€œWell, Chief Wren,” Parkhurst said. “City people don’t always realize the dangers inherent in a rural setting.”
    â€œ You’re ‘city people.’”
    â€œFor your protection, a few facts. Farming is way up there among the most hazardous occupations, with a high incidence of serious and fatal accidents.” His hands were bloody with dark streaks on the blunt fingers, dried and caked around the nails. “You shouldn’t be involved in any of this, but the least you could do is stay out of trouble. I’ll never get anywhere if I have to babysit you.”
    â€œMy safety is not your concern.”
    â€œOtto’s livid. If anything happens to that bull, anything at all, there’ll be hell to pay.”
    â€œThat’s why he didn’t shoot? More concerned about a bull than an injured man?”
    Parkhurst grunted. “Fafner brings in three million a year. How quick would you be to shoot?”
    â€œThree million? How could any animal be worth that much?”
    â€œRight now there are higher priorities than your education.” He turned to leave.
    â€œOne moment.”
    He stopped, turned back.
    â€œI would appreciate it,” she said, “if you would find out who was in the barn just before Fafner got loose.”
    â€œThis is a working ranch. People go into barns.”
    â€œYes, even city people are able to figure that out. Whoever it was hid from me.”
    He listened impassively as she